When I was a child, my mother wanted me to learn to play a musical instrument. I tried the piano, but it never connected to anything real in me. Then I discovered the flute – what a magical instrument! I found that I could play it with abandon, discovering new ways to combine the three notes that I knew how to play.
Sadly, the music that I thought I was playing was not the same sounds that other people heard. My parents tried to encourage me, but finally it was agreed that the silver piece of finely tuned metal would be returned.
And the part of me that reveled in the joyous expression of music – however loathsome to others – went underground, hurt and forgotten.
Now, looking back over forty years, it occurs to me that I connected with the flute because it made my heart sing. Whimsical notes could trip off my breath, while my fingers knew their place. My body worked in perfect synchronicity with my breath and my spirit grew wings. It was my music to express, whether anyone else appreciated it or not.
No one is to blame. My parents did what they thought best at the time. I accepted their judgment willingly, even though it made me sad to abandon that magical world I created when I played. And I have discovered other ways to fan the spark of creativity – writing, speaking, and teaching.
Accepting what happened opens a door that leads to deeper understanding and knowing. Acknowledging my own creative value moves me through the door and into a new world to discover, dance and sing. Allowing the creative force that still resides in me expression is how I write the songs of my heart.